<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Stands In Stupid by InternalFire</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25334185">Stands In Stupid</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/InternalFire/pseuds/InternalFire'>InternalFire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:08:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,387</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25334185</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/InternalFire/pseuds/InternalFire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>THIS IS A DRAFT :) Literally just wrote this because I can't stop having dreams about my guild going on adventures.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stands In Stupid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>DRAFT - </p><p>This is just the first 1000-1500 words written specifically to share with my friends and see if I should continue writing it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“WHO CUT A SLICE OUT OF ME GINGER ROOT?!” A booming voice echoed throughout the sanctuary. A thumping came afterwards, a large red-headed figure came barreling down the wooden stairs, half-clad in a heavy metal armor. “WHO WAS IT?” They asked again, auburn beard shaking as they spoke. </p><p>A shaky voice came from behind me, “it wasn’t me,” Eli mumbled. </p><p>“WELL IT WAS FUCKING ONE A YAS” Ginger yelled back. I continued to sweep the floor, desperately trying to not make eye contact. In truth, it had been me, I used the ginger for the cauldron of soup that was cooking over the large fire in the room below, and how Ginger hadn’t simply smelled it was beyond me.  </p><p>If it wasn’t obvious enough, Ginger lived up to her name in every way possible. The hair, the ginger root garden, and the orange cat who was often found sleeping at the foot of her bed. Ginger had even concocted an elixir that allowed her to grow a long, Nordic style beard in her trademark color. The one thing Ginger wasn’t known for was moving gingerly. She was tall and muscular, and when out on an adventure she wore heavy forged armor that clanked if she didn’t insulate it with a type of dandelion latex. She was tough, and most wouldn’t dare to mess with her, but even if we sliced her precious ginger root, she wouldn’t lay a finger on any of her friends. To us, she was all talk.  </p><p>Everyone had just gotten back from an adventure and was tearing off their armor to cool down. I had been home to whole time of course; I wasn’t one to fight. I had cooked a large dinner of venison rice soup and baked half a dozen loaves of bread I knew would all be consumed within an hour of everyone's return. I had strung up some laundry in anticipation of the load that would be produced and had just begun sweeping the floor when I heard the clicking of horse hooves approaching, subtly announcing that everyone had arrived. They would excitedly tell me stories the second they opened the door, how Ginger had swung her greatsword into the heel of a giant, how Eli and his army of undead spiders took down a harvester who had claimed an innocent farmers land, or how Trance had stood nonchalantly on top of a cliff, casting spells on the helpless ogres below. Sure, it sounded cool the way they told it, but they always left out the danger, the gore, the whole part about Trance having to climb that cliff without being seen, using only tree roots that were bound to come loose at any second. That part wasn’t for me. Besides, someone had to keep this place clean, they sure as hell weren’t going to do it after a big adventure.  </p><p>There was 9 of us in total, all with above ground bedrooms in an old, abandoned inn, and underground bedrooms in a hideout below. Extra rooms included the kitchens, the cold room, the armory, two extra storage spaces, and a waste room. We also had the bath, which was more of an accident that had happened while trying to expand the sanctuary. We had aggravated an underground spring, and it conveniently flooded into the perfect area for a bath. The water was also perfect for cleaning, cooking, and concocting all sorts of potions. The space we had to call our own was huge and required a lot of care. I was sure without me, everyone would starve, or drown in their own filth eventually. At least that’s what I told myself, and them, so that I wouldn’t ever have to go out and fight anything. I’m not sure anyone believed me though, because they all still made sure I had my own armor and weapons just in case, and Trance used all his free time, and I do mean all his free time, to train me in spells that I hoped to never use.  </p><p>Trance was a tall, fit Breton, with glowing skin and a spell book filled with overpowered magic skills that could take down a titan in 4 hits. He was sort of like a brother to me, in the way he spent so much of his time teaching me skills and talking to me about life. He always assured me that I could take down an army if I had to, but I was pretty sure that a single arrow could take me out. Trance’s room was the only one I never felt comfortable cleaning. Everything he owned had been meticulously placed exactly how he wanted it, and unlike Ginger, I was positive he’d beat me up if he was mad. I would sometimes sweep the floor for him, but that was only if every other thing I could possibly think of doing had already been done.  </p><p>Dinner was often a big event after everyone had come back from an adventure. We often ate in the hideout; it was a larger space and had a bigger area for a fire. The dining table was fit for a dozen people and sat to the left of the huge fire pit we used to keep the entire area warm. The hideout was a cave system that had been carved into the stone behind and below the inn. The rock was often cold and damp, and the only fix was the massive circular fire pit that was placed in the wide-open center room. Over the edges of the fire pit were various metal fixtures for hanging pots and cauldrons for cooking, and a large box like fixture rested just above the coals for an oven. This was where I spent most of my time, making sure that we had enough food for a feast. As soon as everyone was out of armor and into comfortable cotton breeches and tunics, they were seated at the table and ready to eat. I often served the food straight from the fire to avoid the risk of dropping the entire cauldron on the floor. The bread was sliced and available for grabs, and bowls of soup were quickly handed out. I made sure never to serve the ginger slices to anyone but myself to avoid the conflict, even if the flavor was strong enough to overpower everything else in the bowl. Often times no one spoke at dinner, no one was willing to sacrifice their eating time. So, we all shoveled food into our faces to the sound of the crackling fire and the clinking of metal dishes. Games and drinking would take place afterwards, though I usually didn’t partake. Dishes needed to be cleaned and the fire needed to be stoked. Mead was also often made by me, though this meant that one of our storage spaces was always filled to the brim with jars of fermenting vegetables, fruits and herbs. It was one of those things that needed to be available regardless of the circumstances, or I might risk being thrown to the wolves. Literally. Buying mead from town was not against the rules though, and I did so frequently to avoid trouble. There were nights when our entire stock dwindled solely because of Eli. </p><p>Eli wasn’t much older than me, but there was no question he was more powerful. He was a necromancer, an elf, and no one was really sure where the hell he came from. As far as anyone could remember he just sort of appeared one day, and before we knew it, he had his own room, and a place in our guild. His favorite activity was no doubt conjuring spiders from below, which sent Trance into a sort of rampage. Trance would knock them all out with a spell or two and then go on for hours about how now he wouldn’t be able to sleep without feeling his skin crawl. The only spider that was off limits was Grizu. Grizu was Eli’s undead pet spider, and luckily for Trance he almost never left his room. Eli was also a drink enthusiast, and as long as he didn’t have to be anywhere (and sometimes even if he did), he would sit down and drink until he couldn’t find his way back to the storage room.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>